Brave New World

He got a discount on the obscured seat

Sometimes I think that, with the exception of folks like Barack Obama or Richard Branson or Charlie Sheen, most of us have a routine to our days that is pretty similar.  When I'm teaching, and I'm doing The Catcher in the Rye for the eleventh time in my career, to be sure, there are always going to be new questions -- insane, or inane or incredibly thoughtful -- but mostly it's the same schtick; things in the classroom will usually go pretty much the same way, with the rare exception of fire drills or having to kick someone out of the room; faculty meetings will generally be excruciatingly similar and predictable each and every time, with the same rude person not having silenced her cell phone, which then rings with some loud and ridiculous Klezmer tune and then she has to excuse herself from the room, simultaneously trying to look embarrassed but also like a V.I.P. while saying loudly, "Wait, I'm in a meeting..."

But it's not like that for babies, is it?  Every hour, every few minutes, seems to deliver a whole host of new, amazing discoveries.  Like a truck going by on the street outside.  Or making eye contact with the cat.  Or realizing that you can blow raspberries and drool all over yourself.  And it's probably good that babies can't speak, because what could they even say when every single day is a mind-blowing experience?  When they are just astounded by the silhouette of branches and power-lines against the sky?  Or they realize that clouds move?  Or how incredible it feels when the wind whispers against their face?  They'd just sputter wow, wow, wow non-stop and sound like idiots.